


Heart Padlock

by refinedgluttony



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, France Being France (Hetalia), France feels, Jealousy, M/M, Romano's Filthy Vocabulary, Roses, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/refinedgluttony/pseuds/refinedgluttony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romano's stuck giving Germany a tour of Rome a week before Valentine's Day until he realizes that they're both actually enjoying each other's company for once. On the day before San Valentino, cupid takes the form of jealousy and little mishaps, forcing Romano to come to terms with his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart Padlock

**Author's Note:**

> APH Germany/Romano Rare Pairs gift exchange on tumblr for btt-girl66.  
> Yes, I make a reference to the film Amèlie because why not?

  
It was the second Saturday of February and the stores in France were stocked to the ceilings with chocolates and flowers. It was hard to pinpoint any store that wasn’t immediately showing off its prizes to those with fat wallets and significant others.

   Romano’s hazy mind tumbled with teddy bears, roses, and other sickeningly sweet things.

   No, he wasn’t going to make amends with Germany. Amend what? That he didn’t hate him? That throughout all the decades of name-calling, swearing, and spiteful attitude he really liked the guy after all? Not likely. At least, not for him, dammit. He was Romano Italy, not Veneziano who was always following after him like a lost child. He didn’t look to Germany to be babied.

   He mentally slapped himself. What was he thinking of; amending, roses, and teddy bears? He wanted to hurl, it sounded so…romantic. If it was for some pretty girl he was sure something could be done, but since it wasn’t, it couldn’t, could it?

   It was only a week ago that Germany was traveling in Venice as usual but for once, North Italy wasn’t anywhere to be found. Romano knew he had gone on a trip to Japan to spend time with the placid nation, because Romano found a note on the fridge saying; buon giorno, fratello mio! Favore di dagli un giro a Germania da parte mia? I’m sure you’ll want to show him around your favorite places in Rome, cierto? By the time you’ve read this I’ve taken pictures with the cute girls in the Harajuku district in Japan.

   “What the fuck…?” The elder Italian had mumbled under his breath. Wait. So he was stuck showing Germany around his place while Veneziano got to spend time with Japan? No. No, no, no, to hell with that. He’ll see him at the airport and shoo him off.

   Wait, hold on. Weren’t airport tickets leading here non-refundable?

   Damn, it was expensive at his place even for an economy as German as that potato head was.

   Well, whatever! He’ll give him a quick tour of Rome and that was it!

   Greeting the German at the airport was not difficult, but it was awkward as fuck. There were a few confused questions as to why Romano would greet him instead of Veneziano, but the older Italian said that he was going to have to spend time with him.

   At first Romano made it a rule to expressively point out that he did not want to do this, did not enjoy doing this, and showing him around when his irresponsible little brother was off eating wasabi and looking at pretty girls and temples in Japan. But, since there was no other choice but to show off how beautiful and stunning Rome was to the German peasant, who knew nothing about the wonderfulness of his own home, and this wasn’t so he would be praised, but recognized as the equal half of an ancient country, dammit!

   So hell-bent was Romano on showing off the most ethereal and classic parts of his home, that he barely noticed a fatal flaw. They were all romantic destinations. The Trevi fountain, Giancolo Hill, a little square on Via dei Coronari, the Lungotevere at dusk and the Roman Forum at night. Merda. Fucking, fuck, fuck-buckets. But Germany had been understanding and pleasant, saying that romance was part of the magic of Rome and Venice and Romano would have laughed out loud at how stupid it was if he didn’t notice that the German had said “Rome” first and not “Venice”.

    He had said…Rome first. Maybe it didn’t mean anything, maybe it did, but it sure connected the wires in Romano’s brain differently. It had felt nice, to be praised. ‘Thank you for the tour, I enjoyed every moment. I should stop by more often’ Germany had said. And yet even if Romano had said snooty things, even so far as to say the German had no taste in rural Roman culture, he had still thanked him for the tour, said he had enjoyed every moment.

   To Romano…that had meant a lot.

  After a few steps, Romano’s attention was claimed by a massive crane and dollies taking apart the famous padlock river.

   Finding France near the river of the Pont de Arts was no surprise to Romano. France was always one for staring at his own country in reverie, not that Romano wasn’t guilty of doing the same in his own country from time to time.

   The meeting was going to be held so very hospitably in France’s antique yet fashionable hall like usual and although Romano wanted to avoid crossing with nations he disliked, he wasn’t exactly clicking his heels at the sight of the romantic Frenchman either. However, the Frenchman seemed to be alone, staring at the padlocks on the grid work near the river being removed by construction workers.

   He stood a step or two near France, not besides him, but not completely behind him either. The padlocks cascaded in heavy tonks and clinks unto the concrete pavement.

   “Sorry about the gate,’ Romano said, a bit quiet at the sight of the countless locks and promises between lovers being taken down from the structure to be replaced with Plexiglas. Knowing France, he would most likely be ambivalent, since love was at stake, but also the old structures beside the rivers.

    France’s chin twitched up, and his eyes became soft at the sight of the Southern Italian. In one hand, he had an especially old padlock in the shape of a heart, the inscription of two names written in pretty calligraphy.

   “Things like this happen, I’ll just have to get used to it. I’m getting old, ha.” France laughed, but it was a small and sad little puff of air. Romano shifted uncomfortably and eyed the padlock, which France was gripping and thumbing. “And it’s nearly Valentine’s Day,’ The Frenchman added with a sigh ‘What a tragedy.”

   “There’ll probably be a new thing going after this, people get creative, dammit. Especially people in love.” Romano offered, bouncing on the heels of his dress shoes.

   “Oui, there always is. Did you come out to sightsee?” The blonde nation asked, the padlock in his hands being pocketed away. Maybe it had been a couple the Frenchman had been particularly fond of, but Romano wouldn’t ask. He knew that France was in a somber mood and it should be taken with delicacy.

   “Yeah, just a bit before the meeting. I’m sure Britain is somewhere inside waiting for you to bother him.”

   France let out a genuine chuckle. “I’d better go rile him up then.”

   He began walking up the steps and stopped suddenly at the top. “Italy?”

   Romano turned his head at the mention of his country’s name.

   A glint of bronze shone in the sun and Romano caught the heavy padlock in his hands, his right eyebrow lifted at the mysterious gesture. France smiled. “Thank you. You’ve cheered Big Brother up wonderfully. Joyeuse saint Valentin! Give your special someone my love!”

   The brunette stared after the nation with a quizzical brow, but then stared down at the padlock in his left hand. It was littered with scratches and fading at the bottom of the heart shape, but it was nice looking nonetheless.

   He started up the stairs after France, then bumped into a large column. “Ah!”

   Rubbing his nose, he saw it wasn’t a column at all, it was the hulking shadow of a blonde German. 

   “I’m sorry Romano, I didn’t see you there.” Germany apologized quickly.

   The Italian was caught off guard. “No, it was m-my –y-your damn fault!’ Romano stutter-shouted, still nursing his sore nose ‘Why don’t you watch where you stand, you cast a shadow that blocks the fucking sun!”

    The German sighed at the usual erratic abuse, for he nearly heard Romano’s softer side for a moment, but only mid-sentence until his macho-pride had gotten in the way of practical conversation again. Just when he had thought his relations with the South Italian had gone better after that tour last week. It seemed like all was back to square one.

    Damn, not again. Romano had yelled at him again for no reason. Why did he keep doing this?

    “Germanyyyy~!” North Italy called, already up the stairs with Japan and America.

    “Ah, Italy.” Germany’s attentions were on the younger Italian, and he joined them, leaving Romano feeling a bit miffed and forgotten at the foot of the steps leading to the meeting hall.

    “Romano-kun? Will you join us?” Japan asked politely, gesturing to the hall.

    “O-of course I will!” Romano ran up the stairs quickly to join the rest of the nations to the meeting hall.  
 

 

    America was speaking. Tax reforms again, or something. Romano found himself glancing at Germany, and then denying such glances took place, looking again in case Germany noticed, then pessimistically denying that he would ever really care.

    Veneziano was taking notes as best he could, and Romano was finding little reason as to why he was even present at the meeting if his brother was here. It wasn’t like there should be two Italies to make a decision that they both would agree on? Then again… Germany had said Rome first. But not because “r” came before “v” in the alphabet right? But because he considered Rome first…gah, he was over-thinking things right? Why did he even start thinking about it again? It was probably nothing, most likely nothing. Nothing at all.

   But what if it was?

   Olive green eyes glanced again, and this time with a flicker, blue eyes connected with his.

   Germany nodded once.

   The Italian’s gaze quickly looked away, his face was heating up. Embarrassment at being caught. Relief that he had received attention. But then he saw Veneziano waving at Germany and there sunk his spirits.

   What the hell? Why did he care that Germany had been nodding to his brother and not him?

   He did that in meetings all the time so why did it matter this time? What changed?

   Romano leaned towards Italy. “I’m going to the bathroom, I don’t feel good.”

   “Do you want me to come with you?”

   “No, I’ll be fine dammit.”

    Pushing his seat in, he left briskly, closing the tall door behind him and cursing underneath his breath.  
      
    Drinking the water in the sink cleared up the fog in Romano’s brain, but not the confusion in his mind.

   His watch read that the meeting would be over in little over half an hour. There was no way he was going back inside anytime soon, and Veneziano was taking notes anyway. After a hefty exhale, he pressed his back to the sink, pocketing his hands until his fingers brushed against something warm and metal.

   It was the heart-shaped padlock. The lights in the bathroom made the edges of it shine with a dull reflection. If he squinted he could read the names of Amélie et Nino. Which was weird because it reminded him of a film, a French film. A French film set in France and Germany.

   Romano’s eyes widened and he realized why France had given him the padlock. He had said good luck with your special someone! And he had immediately bumped into Germany which means that France had seen him coming!

   _France must have known about Romano giving Germany the (accidental) romantic tour of Rome!_

   Holy fucking shit, this was bad, this was very, very bad.

   France had the biggest mouth on this side of the Mediterranean! If he knew, then he had seen him leave the meeting room and took advantage of his absence to blab about it to the other countries this very minute!

   Slamming the bathroom door open, he sprinted down the hall, almost colliding with a woman holding several bouquets of red and white roses and baby’s breath. “Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle.” He quickly apologized, holding her steady.

   She blushed, and straightened herself up. “Ah, non! C’est de ma faute, voici. Joyeux, saint Valentin!”

   Romano received a bouquet and after giving a fast merci, he drew his ear into the tall meeting hall doors to eavesdrop. He heard some faint voices discussing, but none of them French.

   Maybe, he was safe. With a check of his watch, he concluded the meeting was nearly over. He entered and saw to his horror, France was speaking with Germany as the rest of the nations were listening intently.

   “…so you see I was wondering if Romano was really giving you an exclusive tour of Rome…”

   “…it’s true, Italy was with Japan at the time so I stayed…”

   The South Italian could only make out bits and pieces of conversation, but none of it sounded good to him and everyone had a bouquet of roses with their names addressed to the country. Maybe nothing was wrong, everything was normal. As he entered the room completely, all conversation stopped as dozens of eyes settled on him…and the bouquet of roses in his hand.

   Shit. Why was everyone staring at him? Did he still have water on his suit from the sink?

   Romano tried saving himself. “What’s the problem, am I wearing ugly shoes? Ha ha…”

    Veneziano pointed at the bouquet of roses from his seat still wearing the same surprised face as everyone else.

     Slowly, the elder Italian looked down at the bouquet in his arms, noticing there was a huge tag in front. It said “For Germany” in clear English handwriting.

      Heat pooled into Romano’s cheeks. The lady must have given him the wrong bouquet!

      Now it looked like… like… he was confessing his feelings or some shit!  
        
     To that he stared down at his shoes, until he saw a similar bouquet of roses in front of him, it was connected to a large pale hand wearing a serious gray business suit. The Southern half of Italy looked up at Germany, and the tag in hand was addressed, ‘To South Italy’.

    Awkwardly, the other nations left the room, sensing the atmosphere, they all exited as quickly as one could evacuate an overtly curious American and worried North Italian. There was a silence in the air save for a few birds casting shadows in the sunlight castings of the tall windows unto the floor.

      It was then that the taller nation felt obliged to speak to break the silence.

      “The bouquets were compliments from France to all of us present, of course, I think he must have set them up so we received each other’s bouquet.” Germany explained, his eyes calm and cool, but the pink in his cheeks was adamant. He was embarrassed, just as he should be. But maybe it was something more.

      Romano’s heart beat slowed down, and he hadn’t noticed that it had sped up during the exchange of the flowers. He gripped the flowers that were meant for him to his chest, the padlock making itself known in his hand.

    “Listen, Germany…”

    “Yes?”

    “I really want you to come by again, and for me okay? I’m not a second choice, I’m not plan B. If you want to see what more Rome has to showcase, then you’d better book your ass over to see it because I won’t be kept waiting.” Romano strongly put, making sure to stare down those blue eyes that were finally focusing on all 168 centimeters of terse Southern rage.

    Taken aback, Germany’s head jerked up slightly, but saw the sincerity in the meek expression that Romano wore. He smiled.

    “I’ll be sure to hold those words against you, then.”

    “Fine by me.” Romano smiled, and in the light of the window, the moment seemed to glow in gold, with the padlock shining in tandem.


End file.
